If I can dream it, by Britta Benson

Picture credit: Graham Benson

This feels like a very suitable poem for a Friday. A good way to send you into the weekend… Here goes:

If I can dream it


If I can dream it,
it’s already real in my soul.

If it’s already real in my soul,
then who am I to argue?

Surely, my heart, my feet, my brain,
oh yes, my brain,
always the last to catch up with my certainties,
this unit,
my body,
can follow the path of my soul.

My soul treads lightly.

The path may not be very clear,
but I know it exists if I want it.

If I can dream it,
dream it and wake up excited,
curious,
ready to grasp what I know is real,
then I already know that I want it.

How come I still hesitate?
How come the duvet is heavier than normal?
How come the night won’t end,
when I already dreamed of my days ahead?

If I can dream it,
I owe my dream big time.

I owe my dream to get up, 
walk,
become what I saw,
and make it my reality.

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